


Hot chocolate, orange zest and peppermint kisses

by MercuryM



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bakery and Coffee Shop, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 21:46:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4035691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryM/pseuds/MercuryM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She put her elbows on the countertop and leaned forward.</p>
<p>“Can I get you something?”</p>
<p>Her cheerfulness was getting on his nerves and he narrowed his eyes, contemplating if she was doing it to annoy him or not.</p>
<p>“Coffee. Black. No sugar.”</p>
<p>“Like your soul?” She joked as she wiggled her eyebrows.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>[Or the one where Bellamy has had a shit day, the coffee shop is the only place he can hide from the rain, the barista withholds the black coffee, he grades some papers, and refuses to be treated like charity. Also, there's hot chocolate. And Clarke.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot chocolate, orange zest and peppermint kisses

**Author's Note:**

> Little something that has been going through my head. It will be just few chapters of pure fluff, awkward Bellamy, lots of hot chocolate, flirting Clarke and very roundabout way to start a relationship.
> 
> Thank you to [Gabby](http://allons-youwish.tumblr.com/) and [Katelyn](http://nathenmiller.tumblr.com/) for going for a quick read with this. Also, a small warning - this first chapter is a bit different from what I usually write, it's a bit more wordsey than my other stories, and the fic might continue in the same fashion (though that's still up for debate).
> 
> **I absolutely refuse to have my story hosted on wattpad, goodreads or any other site! Stop stealing people's work!**

Bellamy pushed against the powerful wind, blinking amidst the rain and determinately taking step after step in the direction of the only open shop at this hour. The unrelenting gust was blowing big fat droplets in his face and his poor, flimsy umbrella did little to protect him from the rain. A bolt of lightning tore the sky apart and the thunder that followed left his ears ringing. He was almost at the door when the wind suddenly changed directions and his umbrella snapped in two.

His curses and yells were swallowed by the storm and he dashed for the door, uncaring about the puddles he was stepping into, or the rain that was slipping down his neck -- umbrella or not, he was sure he had the look of a drowned cat, so why bother.

Another crack of thunder sounded and the ringing of the small bell attached to the door when he finally reached it and pushed it open wasn’t heard even by him. He hesitated when the door closed shut behind him -- he was dripping water everywhere and his broken umbrella hung uselessly from his arm, looking as miserable as he felt. But the warmth of the what he now identified as a coffee shop was too tempting to resist, and there was no way he was braving that shit storm again.

Bellamy felt a bit guilty about the mess he was creating but with the denim of his jeans sticking uncomfortably to his skin and his hair plastered flat atop his head, he decided he couldn’t care less. He was cold and hungry, his backpack wasn’t water proof, which meant all his notes had just went to hell, and Professor Kane’s words were still stuck on repeat in his head, adding to his already bad mood.

God, he should have stayed in bed today.

“You look like a drowned rat.” A female voice drawled out and he had to wipe the water off his face so that he could see properly.

She was probably the cashier or the barista or whatever; all he knew was that she was blonde, pretty, and was wearing a uniform. And apparently he didn’t even rank a drowned cat in _her_ book, _great_.

He glared and didn’t give a fuck if she was taking it personal (though it kinda was). He had had a shit day and her comments were definitely not appreciated. But contrary to his expectations, instead of deflating, her smile widened.

She put her elbows on the countertop and leaned forward.

“Can I get you something?”

Her cheerfulness was getting on his nerves and he narrowed his eyes, contemplating if she was doing it to annoy him or not.

“Coffee. Black. No sugar.”

“Like your soul?” She joked as she wiggled her eyebrows, but the smile slipped off her face when she was met with silence and his unimpressed face. She sighed and pulled back from the counter. “Coming up your way. Grab a seat, I’ll bring it to you in a moment.”

Bellamy looked around and took note of his surroundings for the first time -- the coffee shop was brightly lit and done in deep red and sunny orange, with some black accents to tie it all together. The tables weren’t that many -- three sitting by the big window and four more by one of the walls. They were positioned in an arc, surrounding the modest glass display that was currently empty, and the coffee slash cashier corner, where the blond was currently operating one of the machines and was hopefully making his coffee. The floor was covered in dark cherry wood (very impractical if you ask Bellamy), the tables were in different shapes, ranging from ovals to hexagons, and handpainted to the last detail in different themes (he was pretty sure the one in the far left corner consisted of drawings of the _Daredevil_ comic). The chairs were just as different.

All in all, with the mixture of colors and shapes, the coffee shop should have looked nothing short of hideous. Yet, despite the bizarre design, it felt fun, warm and homey.

Bellamy hated it (at least he told himself that).

Completely bypassing the flowery table, and then the hexagon black and red monstrosity, he aimed for the comic book one. His bag hit the floor with a wet flop and he shrugged off the wet jacket, hanging it on the back of his chair. His shirt was equally wet with rain and sweat but he didn’t have much choice in the matter. Kicking the sad excuse of an umbrella under the table, Bellamy unzipped his backpack and groaned when he saw that almost all of his books were damaged by the water. Thankfully, the essays Kane left him to grade were still dry and he hurried to put them aside, lest they get the same treatment as the rest of his belongings.

Bellamy was absorbed in sorting out the essays, when the creaking of the wooden floor announced the arrival of his coffee.

Except there was too much whipped cream and cinnamon for it to be his coffee.

He stared in shock at the orange ceramic cup that was set in front of him courtesy of the blonde barista and looked up scowling.

“This is not what I ordered.”

The barista -- _Clarke_ her nameplate read -- smiled and sat on the chair across from him, pushing the cup forward.

“No, but it will do a better job at warming you up. You look like you need it.”

He resisted the urge to push the cup away only because he was pretty sure she would push it back in place. The drink -- whatever it was -- looked too sugary for Bellamy’s taste buds, but the cream had started melting from the hot liquid and his hands itched to wrap themselves around the hot beverage.

In the end, the chill in his bones won out.

Bellamy pretended not to notice her triumphant little smirk when he gave in and got his fingers around the cup, greedily seeking the warmth it provided and sighing in bliss when the heat traveled up his arms.

Shortly after, he brought the cup to his mouth, blowing softly and taking a tentative sip of the drink. Bitterness and spice exploded across his tongue, tempered by the cool, melting cream and making him moan when the liquid slid down his throat and warmed his insides. Heat replaced the chill in his bones and Bellamy rolled his shoulders, chasing the stiffness away. He took another sip and burned his tongue.

She laughed when he cursed and put his cup down, careful not to slosh any of the liquid onto the essays.

“I take it you like it then?” Clarke sounded all too smug, teasing glint in her blue eyes.

He licked his lips, chasing the spice with his tongue and leaned back in his surprisingly comfortable chair.

“I’ve had better.” He went for an unimpressed shrug but she didn’t seem to be buying it; and with a reason -- this was the best damn hot chocolate he had ever tasted and he was picky when it came to his hot drinks.

It felt weird sitting in silence with a complete stranger, drinking his hot chocolate while said stranger was watching him with a small smile and the rain hammered away outside. But the warmth of the drink was too much to resist and he liked the company he had (no matter how bothersome he found her at the moment).

At one point, half-way through his hot chocolate, his stomach grumbled, _loudly_ , and Bellamy wished the floor would swallow him whole. Clarke chuckled and Bellamy held the cup tightly in front of his face, using it to shield his steadily coloring cheeks. Fuck but this was embarrassing.

Thankfully, aside from laughing at him, she chose not to tease him further. Instead, she leaned over the table and tapped her index finger over the essays.

“May I?”

He gave a quick glance at the papers and nodded -- those were the last assignments Kane had given their class and Bellamy, who was acting as Kane’s TA and learning the ropes from him, had the honor of grading them. (He was pretty sure Kane had done that on purpose; the older man hated reading his students’ papers.)

She turned the papers around and spread them out on the table, eyes flickering from essay to essay. Humming softly, she picked one and started reading through it.

Bellamy shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable when faced with her careful scrutiny even if it wasn’t technically his work; but still, he was teaching those kids and them doing bad spoke poorly of him. It shouldn’t have mattered, it wasn’t like a small coffee shop barista would know much of Ancient Greek Gods but she surprised him once again.

“I’m pretty sure you need to give this one a failing grade.”

He almost choked on his hot chocolate. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he narrowed his eyes at her.

“And why is that?”

She turned to the second page of the essay.

“The whole story about Hades and Persephone is completely wrong. Not to mention that Hephaestus is spelled with two e’s. And while Zeus’ numerous infidelities are very detailed I don’t see how that is of any concern considering the topic you’ve given them.”

Bellamy put his cup down and tugged the paper out of her hands only to frown when the quick check proved that she was completely right. Frustration bubbled inside of him -- they had covered the topic two weeks ago! -- and he fished his red pen out of his bag, driving a line across the first paragraph and drawing a big question mark next to it.

Hot chocolate momentarily forgotten, Bellamy started going through the stack of papers, red pen in use more times than he had been hoping for. Seriously, how hard it was to stick to the topic at hand?

He had no idea when had the barista vacated his table, but he was aware of her return when a plate was put on top of the few graded essays and she went back to her seat, another plate in her hand.

Bellamy dropped his pen and quirked an eyebrow at her, glancing at the sandwich meaningfully.

“I’m not a charity case, you know?” His voice was dry and he was sullen at being treated like one -- just because the storm had almost drowned him didn’t mean he needed her pity. They weren’t even friends for fuck’s sake!

Clarke shrugged, completely unperturbed by his rebuke.

“Night shifts always make me hungry.” When he pointedly ignored the sandwich, she rolled her eyes and kicked the leg of his chair. “Don’t be stupid, eat up.”

He bristled at the command and glared at her. Just as he was getting ready to tell her to fuck off, her face softened and she tucked a stray lock of her blond hair behind her ear.

“I rarely get customers at this time at night. It’s nice to share my dinner with somebody.”

The words got stuck in his throat and the paper slipped between his fingers. She was trying to manipulate him, he knew that, but he also had the nagging feeling that she was speaking the truth.

And well, he was feeling hungry and the sandwich looked very tempting -- it was ciabatta with pesto, mozzarella cheese, prosciutto and arugula.

It tasted almost as good as the hot chocolate. Speaking of which -- Bellamy took a gulp of his cup. It had gotten cold but it still tasted good.

She swallowed a mouthful of her sandwich and pointed to the essays.

“Are you a teacher?”

“Nah, still a TA. I’m going to take over the Ancient History position next year though.” Brushing the bread crumbs off his shirt, he continued. “What about you? Clearly you’re familiar with the Greek gods.”  

Clarke shook her head and pushed the papers to one side revealing the drawing on the table.

“I did some research on them last year when I did few pieces.” Her fingers traced the lines of the Daredevil logo. “I draw stuff when I don’t work graveyard shifts here.”

“Really? I didn’t take you for an artist.”

“You’re not the first to tell me that.” She tapped on the table. “This is one of mine actually.”

That definitely peaked his interest and he focused on the table, taking in the little details he had missed before. He was surprised to notice how much work it was put in every contour, every line, the blend of colors was exquisite and it looked like someone had printed the pages off the comic and glued them to the table.  

“You’re good at this.”

She grinned. “Don’t forget my skills in making hot chocolate.”

Bellamy snorted and then outright chuckled, running fingers through his damp hair and pulling at the dank shirt that was still sticking unpleasantly to his skin.

“I wouldn’t even dream about it.”

Clarke took another bite of her sandwich, her eyes sparkling with delight.

Bellamy found himself mirroring her mirth, his bad mood completely forgotten.

The rain had died down to a drizzle by the time they had finished their sandwiches and for some reason Bellamy was reluctant to pick his stuff and leave.

Yes, Clarke had started as an extremely chipper and annoying person, but her constant refusal to be cowered by his bad mood and her insistence to butt into his business was rather charming and endearing.

As if sensing his thoughts, Clarke gathered their plates and his empty cup and got up.

“You should probably get going. If the morning weather program is to be trusted, this storm will continue well into the night.”

He sighed and started gathering the essays. He put them in between his least damp books, checked his phone and keys, and zipped his bag. Pulling the jacket on, he gritted his teeth at the cold that was trying to penetrate his body and swung the bag on his shoulder.

Clarke was wiping the coffee machine clean when he made it to the cash register. He didn’t really pay attention how much she charged him until he got his change back, and then he grumbled.

“This can’t be right.”

She blinked at him, confused for a moment by the sudden change in his demeanor, before realizing what he meant.

“You ordered a black coffee.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes.

“As I said, I’m not a charity case. I’m perfectly capable of paying for my food and drink.” He went to give her the rest of the money but she tsked and shooed him away.

“No can do, it’s on the house. Think of it as payment for putting up with me.”

With that, she grabbed the dirty plates and disappeared through the door in the back that was most probably leading to a kitchen or something.

Bellamy was about to let his frustration known by yelling at her retreating back when the tip jar sitting on the counter caught his eye. Smiling with glee, he dropped the change in the jar and made his way out of the door before she could notice and turn disappointed eyes at him.

Really, he just didn’t like owing people. The hot chocolate had been great and she had been good company but it wasn’t like they were friends and Bellamy wasn’t planning on coming back here again.

The bell signaled his exit and Bellamy braved the cold weather and the chilling wind. At least it had stopped raining.

He was halfway home when he realized he had forgotten his only red pen at the coffee shop.

And his broken umbrella.

Bellamy cursed and glared at the dark clouds; a lighting and a thunder were his response.

God damn it.

He was _not_ going back there.

(He so was.)

**Author's Note:**

> The hot chocolate Clarke made Bellamy consists of milk, dark chocolate, cinnamon, a bit of chili powder and whipping cream :) Also, give the sandwich a try if you have the chance - it's one of my favorites!
> 
> Feedback is greatly appreciated!
> 
> Original [tumblr](http://furiosaclarke.tumblr.com/post/120221148586/title-hot-chocolate-orange-zest-and-peppermint) post.
> 
> \- M.


End file.
